


Denial is Not Just a River in Egypt

by melodycanta



Series: Steal Your Heart Shining Live Event [1]
Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Cheek Kisses, Dressing Rooms, M/M, Mutual Pining, steal your heart event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 11:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15605535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodycanta/pseuds/melodycanta
Summary: Tokiya is not attracted to his roommate in any way, shape, or form, so he'll be fine giving Otoya a kiss on the cheek when it's needed for a shoot.Written prior to the Steal Your Heart event.





	Denial is Not Just a River in Egypt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [UtaPri_Trash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UtaPri_Trash/gifts).



> Thirsty Tokiya is my religion.
> 
> This has been written prior to the Steal Your Heart event in Shining Live, so it's really got nothing to do with the event itself other than that SR photo, but damn, Otoya, consider my heart stolen.
> 
> I also think this is the first thing that I've written in canon, so hopefully I haven't contradicted anything. Tokiya is dressed in the Strawflowers Bloom at Night / Serment du Ciel Étoilé outfit from the previous SL event.
> 
> Very little editing/beta, so if there are errors, I apologize, but I wanted to get this up as soon as possible, since @UtaPri_Trash published theirs. Go check it out!

Tokiya isn’t surprised when Otoya stumbles back into their shared dressing room like a misplaced tornado. He’s constantly losing things during shoots, and 99% of the time, they end up in their dressing room because Tokiya picks them up. A misplaced bouquet on top of the light stand, a headband left abandoned on the photographer’s equipment, even a platter of oysters that had been dropped by the costume rack: Tokiya always has a feeling that he knows who they belong to, and lo and behold, they’re almost always his redheaded roommate’s. (This, of course, doesn’t include the time he’d assumed a set of glasses was for their office wear shoot and had come face-to-face with a very panicked and angry Syo who asked why he was trying to hide Natsuki’s glasses and if he was trying to kill them all.)

This time, however, he hasn’t picked anything up. In fact, he’s not sure that Otoya has any props for this shoot, seeing as he’s dressed almost casually (well, it’s more formal than his normal jeans and a t-shirt, but his white shirt has been left open a few buttons and his sleeves are rolled up, which gives him almost a careless appearance). The look is good on him, Tokiya can admit, but that’s about as far as he’ll go. He is _not_ attracted to his roommate in any way, shape, or form, he insists to himself.

“Did you lose something again?” he asks coolly, hoping that his voice stays steady, even with how his throat tightens. He has the reflex to swallow as he realizes the redhead is flushed, the light pink extending down his neck. Otoya has a very slender neck, he notices, and with the way the collar of his shirt exposes it, it feels almost risqué somehow.

Is it hot in here?

Obviously, it’s his waistcoat and cravat from his current outfit, he decides, and loosens the white fabric around his own neck.

“N—No,” Otoya stammers. He blushes even harder for some reason, and Tokiya cocks an eyebrow at the redhead’s strange behavior. 

“What’s wrong?”

By now, Tokiya’s not sure that Otoya has any blood left in his body that isn’t residing in his head with the color he’s turning. “T—The director of the shoot thinks I look a little too clean,” he says, almost quietly enough that Tokiya can’t hear him. His eyes are averted towards the floor, and the expression is irresistible. 

Still, that seems ridiculous to be embarrassed about. “The makeup artists can make you look like you’ve been rolling around in the dirt,” he says, until Otoya holds up the tube of lipstick that he’s been clutching in his right hand, and suddenly, it hits him.

 _Oh_. That kind of clean.

Technically, the makeup artists can do that to him as well, although Tokiya feels a little sick at the idea of one of them kissing his roommate on the cheek with their gloss-slicked lips. They’re all very kind, and he has nothing against them personally, but he just doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like the idea of them ruining the innocence Otoya possesses, he decides. 

“I can’t do this,” the redhead whimpers, and Tokiya recognizes the impending signs of a panic attack. This is so out of his comfort zone that he’s probably been working himself up about it, and now this threatens to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. 

Okay, first things first, he needs to calm Otoya down. He can do that without the weird twisting feeling deep in his stomach. He grasps Otoya’s shoulders and looks him straight in the eye. “You can do this,” he says quietly, in the most reassuring voice he can muster up. “This is all part of being an idol. Sometimes you have to put on different masks. Look at what you’re wearing. It’s not at all uncomfortable, is it?”

Otoya shakes his head.

“You don’t even have to wear a tie,” he says, because he knows how much Otoya hates wearing ties for shoots. He’d always left the top button of his shirts unbuttoned while they were wearing their Saotome Academy uniforms, but that looks sloppy on camera. “And no jacket either.”

He casts an eye down at Otoya’s outfit again for more reassurance, but his mind seems to fixate on how his pants cling to his hips and emphasize his slim waist. He really is toned quite well, he marvels before remembering that is _not_ something he should be thinking about his roommate. He clears his throat, and when his eyes return to somewhere more appropriate, he realizes he must have been staring for a moment longer than is polite, because Otoya is looking at him in confusion.

“It’s just a kiss on the cheek,” he says, pretending that moment didn’t happen. His eyes are drawn to the smooth skin under Otoya’s left eye. A lipstick print would look very good right there, he agrees, and maybe one on the right side of his neck as well. 

Of course, this is all considered with an artist’s eye, he reminds himself. It’s not that he wants to press his lips to that lightly tanned patch, particularly not on his cheek where the flush is starting to fade. 

When he returns his gaze to Otoya’s eyes, he notices that they’re drawn not to his own, but to his lips, and he swears he can hear his pulse hammer in his ears. 

“Tokiya?” the redhead asks, and his throat sounds tight. 

“Yes?”

“Will you do it?” The blush kicks back full force, and it’s like he hadn’t realized what he’d said, because he backs out of Tokiya’s grasp immediately, his hands over his face. “I—I’m sorry! I’m just going to go!” he says, but Tokiya’s brain has already focused in on the statement he wants to hear, and he strides over to shut the door before Otoya can escape.

“Lipstick,” he says, holding out his hand. This is just to help his roommate, he tells himself. He is absolutely not looking forward to this, he’s not imagining how the supple skin will feel under his lips or how Otoya will react as Tokiya nears, placing his hands on his shoulders and leaning in . . . 

Otoya’s hands shake as he hands over the lipstick. It’s a good color for Tokiya, he notes, with the blue undertones. It’s waxy against his lips as he applies it, making sure it’s a thick enough coat to transfer. He is no stranger to lipstick, as it features in any stage makeup kit, but it is a new color for him, and the glimpse he gets of his own mouth in the mirror behind Otoya makes him almost look clownish, in his opinion. He shakes his head, contemplating the lengths he seems to go for the man in front of him, and then he meets Otoya’s eyes and his composure falls apart. The redhead is staring at him reverently, his eyes locked on Tokiya’s lipstick-laden mouth as though it’s telling him the secrets of the universe. 

Tokiya’s collar feels too tight again, and he swallows the lump that has risen in his throat. “Hold still,” he says as he slides his hands against Otoya’s jawline. The skin is warm and smooth, and Tokiya can feel Otoya’s pulse thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings under his touch. The tempo only increases as he gets closer, and he hears Otoya’s sharp intake of breath at the first touch of his lips against the virgin skin. The print needs to be clean, he figures, so he slides his tongue in between his parted lips, until it too presses against Otoya’s cheek. 

Otoya makes a strangled noise, but he doesn’t move away.

Tokiya eventually eases away, making sure to pull straight back to avoid smudging the print and admires his work. The print has defined edges and captures both sides of his Cupid’s bow, but he is far prouder of how breathless Otoya seems, the rosy blush high in his cheeks and his mouth hanging open. “There,” he says, even though his voice wavers on the single word as he tamps down on the urge to do more. Otoya’s shirt hangs just so, and if he made a noise just at the kiss on his cheek . . . 

“T—Tokiya,” Otoya stammers, and Tokiya catches him just in time before he presses their lips together, even as his brain unhelpfully supplies mental images of the lipstick smeared all over Otoya’s lips.

“They’d have to redo your makeup,” he reminds the redhead as he taps his red lips. “Go to your shoot.” He can’t believe he’s thinking this clearly, and part of him hates himself for it, because he could have Otoya pinned up against the wall right now, leaving prints down his neck and ensuring that everyone will know that the redhead is his.

Otoya swallows and nods, obviously not taking Tokiya’s words as a rejection, before he scampers out the door.

The hints of Otoya’s basil and sandalwood cologne linger in the air after he leaves, and Tokiya has to admit to himself as he rids his mouth of the lipstick with a makeup wipe, perhaps he does have just a smidge of attraction to his roommate.

And later, when Otoya throws himself at Tokiya with wild abandon to kiss him, Tokiya acknowledges that maybe there’s a little more than a smidge.


End file.
